


Still Strangers

by Reignfinite



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7215190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reignfinite/pseuds/Reignfinite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Roadhog took off Junkrat's prosthetics?</p><p>A short drabble with an open ending regarding that question up there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Strangers

The first night Roadhog spent with his new boss was made up of mostly causing mayhem and running away. The second night was of wasting away money they’d managed to rob from a medical company right in the heart of a coast city in the States, then running away again shortly after they’d been tracked down. The nights of that whole week right until the next was mostly the same.

Roadhog thought he’d never get a good night’s rest again. He missed the quiet of the night as well as using the darkness to hide in an unknown location to rest instead of using it to hide in the shadows to escape.

He felt like the clock had turned around. It doesn’t help that they’d traveled a good few time zones away from home and had yet to get used to the turn of day in the States.

Surprisingly, some two weeks after being hired by Junkrat, the night finds them comfortably hidden in a deserted barn house in an empty field. Roadhog tended to a fire to keep them warm and to cook their dinner over while Junkrat was attending to new bombs and traps. Tonight, they rest as they have no plans for the next day but to mostly travel deeper towards the heart of America.

Though nighttime would be the best time for them to go about zipping through the interstate, the lights on their ride broke yesterday in one of their heist escapes. Roadhog insisted they suspend travelling in the dark until he gets around to fixing, and possibly fortifying, the broken light.

The night here is quiet and most of the noise is made by Junkrat, who has been recounting stories. The man always has different tales. Roadhog may drown out half of what Junkrat is saying most of the time but he doesn’t recall hearing any story twice before, though he does recall already being around in some of them.

They eat dinner. It’s a feast compared to what one would find back in Australia. They’d found a calf on the road earlier as they passed a more nurtured farmland and taken it with them. It may still be small and young, but it was more than enough for the both of them.

After their meal, they both set about cleaning or reconstructing weapons. Roadhog busied himself with his scrap gun while Junkrat continued with his bombs. Although, shortly afterwards, he started to play around with the cleaned hide of calf, putting it over his shoulders and pretending to be royalty of some sort.

Roadhog ignored him for the most part and only gave him attention after he’d hung up the hide again and started putting together scattered hay for them to sleep on. “You turnin’ in?” Roadhog rumbled.

“Yeah, mate,” Junkrat replied with a half shrug.

Roadhog turned back to his weapon after grunting in response and started cleaning up. Though he may not show it, he’s eager to spend the night resting. Finally. He placed everything aside then made his way to the beds Junkrat attempted to make. There was barely enough to actually make ‘beds’ for each of them, but Roadhog didn’t mind. He has slept in worse conditions. At least he could gather up enough straws for a pillow of some sorts.

Junkrat was still sitting up. Roadhog turned to see that the smaller man was pulling off his prosthetics and setting them aside. It’s Roadhog’s first time to see Junkrat pull them off. He hadn’t even realized the man took them off at all after seeing him sleep with them on during the days they spent in respite from heists, escapades and action in general.

However, Roadhog wouldn’t have been surprised. They have not been in a safe, solitary place since they started working together. Thinking about it, tonight might only be an exemption for Junkrat.

And it seemed the smaller junker had taken notice of Roadhog’s stare. “What?” he asked, almost defensively. “I gotta take ‘em off sometimes.”

The bodyguard said nothing in reply and simply repositioned himself so he was on his back, fingers connecting on his middle. He’d closed his eyes a while and had finally earned silence before he decided to pull off his mask as well. If Junkrat saw no harm in letting his guard down tonight, Roadhog can do that too. The clips on the back of his head were starting to hurt anyway. He didn’t miss the sudden intake of breath from his left, but opted to ignore it in favor of a good night’s sleep.

* * *

 

Since that day, the junkers started spending their nights as normal people would. It was a bit of a struggle at first to wake at dawn and sleep come dusk, but they managed to adjust. It helped that Junkrat stopped making plans for the nocturnal. Sometimes they still stayed up later, sometimes they slept earlier. Sometimes they stayed awake to travel through more troublesome parts of the country and still ended up sleeping in the day, sometimes they’d sleep till noon. Nonetheless most of their days were consumed causing mayhem and their nights in sleep.

It was a solid month and some later, after a particularly tiring series of days of running and hiding and more running through a bunch of cities, when Roadhog and Junkrat manage to find an old, rundown motel safe enough to crash in. The man running it was suspicious enough to seem trustworthy so Roadhog let Junkrat pay the iffy bloke enough for a room as well as to keep them a secret.

Once they’d reached the simple, nondescript room with two beds, Junkrat headed right off for the bed with a sighed, “I’m stuffed.” He didn’t even bother with his boots or the bombs still strapped onto him. Roadhog, not having a death wish, told his partner to at least put aside his bombs.

He was met with a string of curses and whines but Junkrat did as instructed anyway, albeit with a defiant roughness to his actions. The blond was acting like a child but Roadhog didn’t mind. He’s used to the man’s immaturity and madness.

Roadhog, over time, found out that his employer is one of two things when sleeping. When the day has not been spent in action or with little amount of it, Junkrat is a loud sleeper. Sometimes Roadhog thinks that it’s a continuation of the constant chatter he’d done in the day. Even in sleep, he can be noisy.

But when their misadventures are of the tiring variety (filled with explosions, mad chases, et cetera), Junkrat, in all his exhaustion, turns into a quiet sleeper. The first time it happened, Roadhog thought the man had died. It was an embarrassing mistake, but he had to make sure that the man he was protecting from the world was still alive so he could collect that promised prize in the end.

It was ironic but Roadhog appreciated the nights when the other junker was a quiet sleeper. Tonight was one such night.

Roadhog was tired as well, but he decided to do maintenance on his scrap gun before he turned in. He spread his tools on the floor by the foot of his bed and took apart his gun.

The night was peaceful, a complete opposite of the past few days. Crickets sang somewhere outside. Sometimes he’d hear a frog’s croak. And though he’d pulled the lamp from the desk to the floor to better cast light on his work, the moon shone brightly through the thin, striped curtains.

After half an hour of disassembly, cleaning and reassembly, Roadhog collected his things and placed them on the small bedside table. He took off most of his effects, including the gas mask, and also placed them aside.

He was pulling himself into the bed that was of a fair size when he noticed how Junkrat was still mostly fully dressed, sans tire and bombs. With a sigh, Roadhog slid off the bed and padded towards his partner.

He started with the other’s boot. After putting it away, he unclasped the lock of the pack around Junkrat’s hip. He didn’t have a way of taking it from under the man without moving him so Roadhog left it.

The large junker paused then, wondering if he should take off Junkrat’s prosthetics as well. It would be rude to, especially without Junkrat’s permission, but he had seen the soot-covered blond rub at his thigh on the ride here. And although Roadhog has no experience with prosthetics, he reckons it must be troublesome to have one on as well. He’d compare it to constantly wearing the mask, but he knows it’s not the same thing. For one, it isn’t a replacement of his face, though he feels that it might very well be sometimes.

It isn’t a rational analogy, but Junkrat’s saved his ass more than once these past few days and the least Roadhog can do is to make him comfortable. With another sigh, the larger Australian moved to gently examine the peg leg. He’d seen Junkrat remove it only a handful of times but not enough to know how the man did it. As he raised it and inspected the end that met with skin, Junkrat stirred slightly before he was dead to the world again.

It would have been easier if he woke up and assisted Roadhog, but the older man can see how tired he is. Junkrat isn’t exactly a light sleeper but if he isn’t rousing to the feeling of his peg leg being moved around, then that says a lot. Or he just doesn’t feel it.

Roadhog made a couple of attempts, his hands gentle and light. On the third attempt, he found the clasp that keeps the peg strapped securely around Junkrat’s thigh. It’s intertwined with a locking mechanism that leads to a button that has to be pressed simultaneously with the unclasping of the catch. Roadhog made a mental note of watching Junkrat in the morning to see how it’s made to work and how it’s locked in place again, in case they’re put in a situation that calls upon his knowledge on it. It can never hurt to always be prepared.

He had just successfully pulled it off when he felt Junkrat shift and heard a sharp inhale. Just as he was looking up to see if he’d awoken his employer, he hears a scream cut through the silence of the night and feels something meet his face.

Roadhog fell on his rear with a grunt and an aching nose. It took him a second to realize that the bloody wanker kicked him in the face. He was just about snap at Junkrat when he saw the other had sat up with his knee curled into him, fully awake with a terrorized look on his face.

Bright amber eyes were opened widely and lips hung open. Roadhog watched Junkrat quickly reassess the situation and put on a forced smile. “Oh, ‘s just you, Roadie,” Junkrat had with a chuckle, his tone equally forced. “Thought it was, uh, someone else.”

Roadhog frowned in concern and he moved to get up. He didn’t miss the wince on the kid’s face when he brushed dirt off. “Sorry, mate. I just…” he offered quickly to the blond. “I… didn’t want to disturb your sleep.”

“Oh. Right. Well, thanks, I guess. I’ll take it from here.” Junkrat looked away then and seemed to relax, but Roadhog saw how Junkrat’s fingers shook when he handed him the fallen peg. The bomber quickly hid them and started taking off his other arm all the while avoiding Roadhog’s eyes.

“Junkrat,” Roadhog said.

“I-It’s nothing, Roadie,” the smaller man quickly said in a way Roadhog’s never seen him speak before. It’s unnerving to see his partner so frightened when he usually never even gave a hint of it in battle. He’d always only been so eager and happy as a child would be on Christmas, filled to the brim with giggles, victorious shouts and homicidal ideas.

Roadhog quietly watched him fidget with his mechanical arm. He grunted and slowly padded to his own bed. Now that he was there, Junkrat’s soot-covered back was to him. He could still see that he was tense, judging from the tension in his shoulders. He wondered if Junkrat would be able to sleep comfortable tonight at all. He wanted to say something, apologize again, but he figured that once was enough and enough intrusion had been done.

If Junkrat wanted to tell him, he would when he’s comfortable enough, when he trusts Mako enough.

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, it's a lot longer than I thought it'd turn out. Aaaand it's not as slash-y as I wanted it to be... so it's a friendship fic, I guess.


End file.
